


Gettin' Cozy in FH

by colobonema



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Balamb Garden (Final Fantasy VIII), F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Mid-Canon, Squall Leonhart being Squall Leonhart, The Successor Challenge 2020, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colobonema/pseuds/colobonema
Summary: The night after the concert in Fisherman’s Horizon, Irvine and Rinoa commiserate with each other about their failures to win over the objects of their respective affections. Mid-canon. Written for the Encore Round of the 2020 Successor Challenge.
Relationships: Rinoa Heartilly/Squall Leonhart
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Gettin' Cozy in FH

Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.

* * *

**Gettin' Cozy in FH**

The sun's rays bounced off the water and flooded the No. 6 guest quarters of Balamb Garden, causing their occupant to groggily open her eyes. She saw the cream-colored dress folded on the back of the chair at the desk, and buried her face in the pillow with a muffled groan.

Last night had not gone well.

 _It's to cheer Squall up. Cheer Selphie up, too. It'll be great. Let's give it a shot._ Irvine had made the plan sound so simple. The whole thing had been his idea, much to everyone else's surprise.

 _Hey, you should wear that dress you wore to the Ball. I bet it's still there, in Garden's gown rental shop. Bring back some happy memories for Squall. Y'know?_ That had been Selphie, with a playful grin and a jab to Rinoa's ribs.

But alas, high heels, a halter-neck and a short hemline were not enough to drag Squall out of his cloud of existential angst. _No,_ Rinoa corrected herself. _It's_ me _that wasn't enough. I should've been more patient with him. Snapping at him and storming off like that... I probably only made him feel worse._

Well. Today was a new day, a fresh start. She could begin by apologizing to Squall. Rinoa struggled into her usual clothes and boots, brushed her teeth, and combed through her hair with her fingers, before heading off to the elevator.

She pressed the button, and was hovering near the doors waiting for them to open when she heard a voice over her shoulder.

"I wouldn't bother."

Rinoa turned around to find herself staring at Irvine's chest, her nose level with that ridiculously gaudy necklace of his.

"If you're lookin' for the others, I mean," he said. "They're in a SeeD-only meeting with Xu and Nida. Which means, 'no stray Galbadian hangers-on'."

She turned back to the elevator. "I'm sure they'll let us listen in. We're part of Squall's battle team."

"Nope. Xu slammed the door in my face. Better accept it: me'n you ain't SeeDs, and we ain't always welcome."

That last part stung. Rinoa's shoulders slumped, and Irvine patted her back in the way she might pat Angelo after a failed game of catch.

"They'll probably be a couple of hours," he said. "Fancy a walkabout in FH? We could kill the time together."

"Are you sure? Remember, I beat you up the last time we were alone."

"Vividly. Still got the scars."

She eyed him with suspicion. "So why would you want to hang out with me?"

Irvine gave a magnanimous shrug. "Maybe you've learned to curb your violent temper by now. I decided you deserve a second chance."

"That's awfully big of you."

He grinned widely and tipped his cowboy hat at her. "You're welcome, darlin'."

Rinoa made an irritated sound through her teeth; she had forgotten that Irvine was impervious to sarcasm. She thought about telling him she'd changed her mind, and creeping back under the stiff covers of her bed in the guest quarters, but he was already striding down the corridor and out into the lobby. She had to break into a semi-run to catch him up.

They stepped onto the platform that had been jerry-rigged to Garden's main gate. It wobbled precariously under Rinoa's boots. The contrast between Balamb Garden's sleek, tastefully colorful interior and the rickety plate-metal boardwalks of Fisherman's Horizon could not be more stark. Bright sunshine tempered with bracing salt spray hit her face as Irvine led her along the train tracks to a ramshackle old bar on the waterfront, its metal window-frames rusted a deep reddish brown by the sea air.

"I'll pay," he said as he ducked his head under the doorway. "What'll you have?"

"Hmm... Iced tea." She was hot already from the walk.

"They only serve spirits here. Whiskey, gin or rum. Take your pick."

"Really? But it's the morning!"

Irvine jerked a thumb at the room behind, lowering his tone so only Rinoa could hear. "You think that makes a difference to these guys?"

She shifted her eyes to take a look at the bar's patrons, as subtly as she could manage. Several men and two women were seated sparsely across the tables and stools, each of them staring dully into their drinks, morose and silent. All were older than Rinoa's own father, and twice as weather-beaten. There was no chatter, no music. It was, by far, the most joyless establishment she had set foot in.

"How do you know what they serve?" she asked.

"I had a good ol' poke around the place yesterday when you four were practicin' the song. Tried to get a feel for the town."

"And? What was the 'feel'?"

Irvine leaned down, so that his lips were close to her ear. "Rust, washed-up lives and bitterness."

"Ouch," she replied. He gave her an _I-just-tell-it-like-it-is_ smile and sauntered over to the bar, before coming back with two glasses in his hands, one tall and fizzing, one short and clinking with fat cubes of ice.

"I got you a whiskey soda," Irvine announced, holding the taller glass out to her. "Figured it was the closest thing to a soft drink. Mine's on the rocks."

Rinoa took an experimental sip, then made a face. "Ugh. Do people really like this stuff?"

"They sure do. You never had liquor before? Not even in Timber?"

"Of course I have. But they drank ale in Timber. It was pretty weak. This is like... nail polish remover." She took another sip and shuddered.

"In a place like this, you'd come to appreciate it, trust me." He turned away, surveying the room for empty tables. "Let's take a seat, shall we?"

Irvine steered her to a table in the corner with a bench and a cushioned chair, his arm draped lazily around her shoulders. Rinoa shrugged it off quickly.

"Cut it out, Irvine. Why are you so comfortable around me, anyway?"

He plopped down on the bench, arms and legs spread wide, his smile even wider. "I'm always comfortable around assertive women, darlin'."

She thought about giving him a swift boot to the shin under the table, then remembered what he had said about curbing her temper, and restrained herself. "Good for you."

He took a glug, and set his glass down. "So. It seems like your date with Squall didn't go the way you hoped."

Rinoa felt herself reddening. She hadn't wanted to be reminded. "How would _you_ know?"

"'Cause he came back alone. Lookin' as grumpy as ever."

"Well, he... He had a lot on his mind." She fiddled with her glass. "Then I ended up getting mad at him. It wasn't a disaster, but... Okay, it wasn't great."

Irvine leaned his cheek against one hand and sighed. "It's damned painful watchin' him act so dense about you. Can't believe he didn't get the hint when you got yourself all glammed up and everything. If a girl had shown me that much leg on a date, you can bet I-"

"Irvine, you need to understand that skirt length does _not_ correlate to a girl being into you," she said, rather too loudly, and the drinker at the next table turned his head in interest as her words cut into his stupor.

"Why'd you bother gettin' dressed up then?" Irvine countered.

"I just... wanted to remind him of the SeeD Ball. I mean, by the end of our dance, he..." She blinked, remembering Squall's ungloved hands in hers, his face upturned to the fireworks above the atrium, the beginnings of a faraway smile drifting across his face. "That was the only time I've seen Squall looking anywhere near relaxed."

Irvine shook his head, and swirled the ice around in his glass. "There's somethin' not right with the guy if that dress made him more 'relaxed'. Should be the opposite."

Her boot twitched again, eager to make contact. "Stop going on about the dress," she hissed. "Anyway, what about you and Selphie? I thought you were going to seize the moment and make your move?"

Irvine's face turned glum. "So did I." He took a quick swig of whiskey.

"What happened?"

"She either didn't notice, or _pretended_ not to notice. Not sure which. I'm kind of fifty-fifty on it at the moment. Selphie's a dark horse."

Rinoa laughed. "I really don't think Selphie's a 'dark horse', Irvine. And I've known her longer than you. A little bit, anyway."

Irvine looked like he was about to argue, then clamped his mouth shut.

"I know her better than anyone thinks. That's all I'll say." There was an expression on his face that she hadn't seen before, a guarded sort of scowl. Rinoa took it to be petulance at the fact that she was right, and let the subject drop.

"Guess we both hit a dead end last night, anyway," she said.

"Mmm." He stretched out both arms along the top of the bench. "You know, things would be a lot easier if you'n me had the hots for each other, instead."

Rinoa raised an eyebrow, keeping her eyes firmly on her drink as she took another sip. "Fortunately, that's not the case."

"Think about it, though. On paper, we're a good fit." Irvine started to count on one hand. "One, the obvious: we're both hotties." He ignored her eye roll and moved onto his index finger. "Two: Shared culture. We're both Galbadian, both outsiders to SeeD. Three: We're new to the crazy-ass world of GFs, so we haven't had years of our memories chewed away like the others have."

She gave him a pitying look. "You really believe that stuff? Isn't that conspiracy theory territory?"

Irvine's mouth disappeared into a thin line. "It's a hundred percent true. I can prove it, and I will, when the time's right. Anyway, four: We're both horny. Case closed."

She spluttered, and wiped the soda bubbles off her chin. "Excuse me?"

"You're not exactly subtle with Squall, you know. All that hair flickin' and flirty smiles."

"You think my feelings for him are... are that _shallow?_ Well, you're absolutely wrong." She folded her arms tightly and stared at him with disgust. "You're just projecting your own inadequacies onto me."

"A healthy interest in sex isn't an 'inadequacy', Rinoa. It's a normal part of being seventeen. Just 'cause Squall's so shut off from the world that he pretends not to feel stuff like that, doesn't mean-"

"Where's this heading?" she demanded, cutting him off. "You think I should switch over to you, just like that?"

Irvine adjusted his hat and flashed her a bright smile. "Thought it was worth a try."

"So if I said 'okay', what would you do, exactly?" she challenged.

"You'd have to say it and find out." Irvine's eyes lingered on hers, and she wanted to slap the smirk off his face.

She knew this was an act; she'd been fairly sure since the moment she met Irvine that all the ladies-man bluster was just as much of a shield as Squall's long silences. Nevertheless, it was infinitely more annoying. _This stupidity is never going to end unless I call his bluff,_ she realized.

Rinoa toyed with a strand of her hair, a sly smile on her lips. "Okay, Irvine. You and me, out on the solar panels, right now." She leaned slowly forwards, until they were in their own little world under the brim of his black stetson. "And you can leave your hat on, if you like," she breathed.

A dull flush rose to the top of Irvine's cheeks, and his eyebrows drew together in a heavy frown. His eyes, though, had lit up with conflicted excitement, and for one nervous moment she thought he might call _her_ bluff. Then he pulled away, wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, and glared at her in defeat.

Rinoa flopped back in her chair, grinning with satisfaction. "All words, aren't you, Kinneas?"

"Dammit. Fine. You win. Looks like I'm stuck with bein' in love with Selphie."

 _In love?_ She was startled to hear him say it so easily."Your feelings go that deep, huh? After only a few weeks?"

"I told you, I've known her for..." He buried his nose in his glass. "Ah, forget it."

She heard the sound of the bar door creaking open behind them, and turned her head. Rinoa's mouth fell half-open at the sight of Zell, dressed smartly in his SeeD uniform, and Squall, in his black leathers as always. His eyes had traveled straight to her, and her heart skipped a beat.

Zell marched over, picked up Rinoa's half-full glass and sniffed it accusingly.

"The hell are you two doin'? Gettin' _drunk?_ Anyway, we're shipping out. Get your asses movin', or the Garden'll leave without you." He stomped back to the door, and flung it open.

Before Squall followed, his solemn gray eyes remained fixed on Rinoa, his expression blank. Even so, it hit her like a slap in the face. He tore his gaze away and walked out, leaving her chest thumping.

Irvine finished off his whiskey, and the ice ratteld at the bottom of the glass. "Huh. Looks like you're in luck," he said.

"You call that _luck_? He practically stabbed me in the eyes." She held out her fingers, and watched them tremble. "I'm actually shaking."

Irvine shrugged. "He's jealous."

"I'd love that to be true, but..." She held her palm to her chest, willing her still-racing heartbeat to slow.

"Believe me, I know what a jealous fella looks like. I get that look a _lot_ when I'm talkin' to a pretty girl." He pointed at her glass. "You done with that?"

She nodded, and Irvine quickly drained it before springing to his feet. "Let's go, darlin'."

Zell was standing outside the bar when they left, although Squall was now nowhere to be seen. Irvine tipped his hat to Zell, with a gleaming grin that was surely calculated to be as irritating as possible, and was quickly carried away by his long strides. Zell directed a futile glare at Irvine's departing back, before hanging behind to walk alongside Rinoa.

"You two seemed to be gettin' pretty damn cozy in there."

"We definitely weren't."

Zell frowned. "He must've been hittin' on you, though."

"Turns out I'm not his type." She smiled to herself.

Zell dragged his hand along the metal handrail. "Weird. I thought Irvine's type was 'female, with a pulse.'"

"You should give him more credit." She thought for a moment. "Actually, we all should."

"Hmm." Zell picked up his pace, and jogged up the steps, making the whole walkway sway.

Before boarding the Garden, Rinoa turned away to look at FH one last time.

 _Rust, washed-up lives, and bitterness._ She had to admit it was an apt description. Maybe Irvine could read people better than she could. Maybe, just maybe, he had read Squall's face correctly, too.

...Maybe.

* * *

The cafeteria was still serving breakfast, and she wolfed down a pastry and a pink, bland-tasting yogurt before returning to her room. When she turned into the guest quarters' corridor, Squall was leaning against the wall. He noticeably twitched when she appeared, then half-looked away, as if he hadn't seen her.

Rinoa walked up to him. "Were you waiting for me?"

"Not especially." He did not meet her eyes.

She took a step back. "Bye, then."

"Rinoa, wait."

She waited, blinking her lashes at him until he managed to speak.

"If Irvine was coming onto you, or making you feel uncomfortable, you should tell me. I mean, as Commander and squad leader, it's my responsibility to-"

"He really wasn't."

"Good." There it was. A flash of relief across his face. Squall tried to reshuffle his features, but too late: she had caught it.

"I mean, that's good," he reaffirmed. "Because it would be inappropriate for members of the same squad to... you know."

"Would it?" she asked innocently.

"Yes. There are strict rules at Garden about that kind of thing."

Rinoa advanced gently towards Squall, and watched his arms tense up the closer she came. "Are there rules about the Commander, and a client, say, doing 'that kind of thing'?"

He stared at her, floundering. "Well, the Commander's a brand new position, so... no. There aren't."

"That's good to know."

She enjoyed his flustered face for a little longer than was fair, then gave him a sweet smile, flicked her hair over her shoulder and disappeared into the guest quarters.

Picking the dress up off the chair, she ran her hands along the silky fabric, then slid it carefully onto its hanger and into the rental bag. No, she didn't need a glamorous dress. She didn't need stiletto heels.

 _It's me,_ Rinoa decided. _I'm enough for him. And sooner or later, he's going to figure that out for himself._


End file.
